The path to freedom,
Never did run straight,
But took the twisting,
Turning route.
A route the harder,
For those men,
Who sought,
Their freedom,
Through the chains,
Of others.
You who were,
Beloved by he,
Who ruled the gods.
How tainted,
Was your milk?
How twisted,
Was the teat,
For you to raise,
Such children?
Children who went,
Into this paradise,
This earth,
Not to embellish,
Or protect,
But to destroy,
And subjugate.
You who produced,
Men who wrote,
And fought,
For freedom,
For their fellow man.
While killing,
Taking lands,
In your,
Now worthless name.
Their words are dull.
They have no worth.
Until we stand and say,
That liberty,
Is but a broken vessel,
While we allow,
Slow genocide,
Of others,
For no reason save,
Their land,
Now ours,
Makes them,
An uncomfortable,



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